


Broken Hearts and Unexpected Fate

by Zouboss



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Ilse and Onyankopon are together in this fic, Modern AU, Recovery, Romance, yeah I did that pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29401929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zouboss/pseuds/Zouboss
Summary: But despite it all, the people that were still present in Ymir's life were not enough to compensate for the loss Ymir had suffered. She couldn't achieve any sort of satisfaction until she got her child back.Historia never understood Porco's downward spiral. Or why he thought the things he did. Historia just knew she had been a fool for marrying the wrong person."It was really nice meeting you, Ymir.""It was nice meeting you too, Historia."The world grew smaller for 4 individuals, a person who lost custody of a child, a woman in an abusive relationship, a man responsible for the abuse and an ingenuine man who would give the world to his younger brother.
Relationships: Ilse Langnar/Onyankopon, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss & Ymir, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Pieck Finger/Yelena
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

The radio crackled, static rushing rhythmically like a river. It filled the night with an electric buzz, a steady soundtrack accompanied with the ambience of an urban night. 

Ymir had no idea how long the noise had been dragging on. Her attempt of recalling her memories of the past few hours were met with a muddled mess of misery. Time was a taunting terror that had lost its meaning. 

Her vehicle was parked, sitting across the street from a familiar apartment complex that she had never stepped foot in. Ymir’s somber gaze traveled towards one of the many windows that the building had. A warm glow emitted from the window, a comfort of domesticity that mocked her with a stab to her chest. 

There was a dark figure, masculine, casting his presence against the window. Another figure was by his side, much smaller and child-like. 

Ymir couldn’t hear it but her memories of a pure giggle of innocence were able to manifest and echo in her mind like a beating drum that couldn’t get enough of it’s sound. The bigger figure lifted the child, a girl, up. He spun her around in joy. The vibrancy of their energy matched with the warm glow that embraced their bodies. 

Ymir’s eyes flitted away, frowning with grief. She took a drink from a glass bottle, the taste of alcohol as bitter as her mood. Sadness overwhelmed her and an anger started to brew, boiling in her veins. 

Ymir moved the gear shift into drive and pressed her foot on the gas. The radio jittered for a moment and Ymir scowled at it, annoyance crawling underneath her skin. Her hand moved to turn the knob and search for a better station. Something to drown out the static. 

Voices were mingled. Music was hollow and distant. She paused on a station, the mellowness of an indie song filling her car. Ymir leaned back into her seat, gripping the steering wheel and mumbled unnecessary curses as the pressure on the gas pedal increased.

Her brain was too slow to really process the music that was as melancholy as she had been for the past few months.

The sudden screech of the car’s tires jolted her out of her daze before she turned up the volume and continued weighing down on the pedal. She wanted to get as far from that stupid building as possible. It’s warm comfort is a haunting threat to Ymir. A warm comfort that had been created without her. For a little girl that lived happily without Ymir. Ymir should be relieved that at least the girl was fine and not shaken up from the absence of Ymir but there was a selfish part of Ymir that kept her from feeling that way. 

The reflection of a red street light blinked onto her windshield and Ymir growled, as if the streetlight was an insult. She passed by it, dismissively. Not caring about what it had meant.

Everything passed by her car in a blur, mushed together to represent some abstract art that others would cry over. The moon hung high above, a crescent of cruelty. 

Ymir felt blood pump into her ears. Her heart started to drum along with the music that didn’t mean anything to her. She couldn’t comprehend the lyrics, the instrumentals only taking an affect on her body. Her car yelped at a sharp turn, the vehicle swerving on barley populated streets. Along with the pounding of the car’s speakers, she could make out the angry and quite concerned honks of passing drivers. She ignored them.

A rush of primal frustration exploded inside her, like a half-heartedly thrown bomb. Her throat tightened and her eyes started to burn with tears. She just had to lose. She just had to lose her daughter. And it was all her fault. Her own stupid fucking fault. She wasn’t good enough. She never seemed to be good enough. A scream erupted from her mouth, a sound that flirted with hysteria. 

She let loose of the steering wheel, hitting herself in a drunken fit of anger. 

Sirens graced the air from outside her car, bright lights flashing in Ymir’s rearview mirror. 

Her almost grey eyes glared at the sight and she slammed on the brakes, her car shrieking with alertness.  
The vehicle behind her was just able to stop mere inches away from knocking onto her car’s rear bumper. 

Ymir’s fingers extended out to lace themselves around her beer and she chugged the rest down. She wiped at her face, trying to get rid of her tears. She muttered miserably, “Fuck.” 

…

“You’re lucky, Ymir.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.”

Eren failed to take humor in Ymir’s tone. 

She looked at him, trying to focus on his unamused features. Her mouth was crooked foolishly. Her head was throbbing. Soberness was a pain. 

Eren glowered at the taller girl. “It’s 3:30 in the morning.”  
“Is it?” 

“A simple thanks would be enough,” Eren’s eyebrows knitted together and she could see the sleepiness lingering in his green eyes. He added, matter-of-factly, “You’re lucky to have a friend who was willing to pay for your bail and speeding ticket.”

“Yes,” Ymir agreed, her tone sluggish. “I’m lucky that you’re rich.”

Eren shoved her, a light force that was enough to have her stumbling down the police station’s staircase. She tripped on the last step, falling to her ground. As her hands made contact with the ground, the concrete scraped her skin. She could feel her bony knees pressing harshly against the pavement. She could feel her bones and how they ached. 

“Look at you,” Eren approached her, his voice barely a whisper. She lifted her head to look at him. His green eyes were lush with pity. “You’re way too skinny, Ymir, you look so sick.”

His pity was enough to break her. Her lips curled in a cruel smile and she spat out at him, “Isn’t that a fucking shame?”

Eren shook his head, taking a deep breath and offering a hand. “Are you still drunk?”

Ymir took his head and as she stood up, the world started to spin. A wave of sadness rushed forward, clashing with her dizziness. Ymir felt herself crumble as guilt and grief started to consume her body. Her legs gave out and she collapsed back onto the ground. Each breath she took caused her skinny frame to shudder with vulnerability. She wished she could feel numb, so all the pain would go away. 

“You went to go see them, didn’t you?” Eren didn’t need her to reply to know the answer. She sensed his presence kneel down beside her and he placed a hand on Ymir’s shoulder.

Tears were acid on her cheeks, sliding down her face and dripping onto the concrete. Her fingers curled into fists and she raised them to whack herself on the sides of her head repeatedly. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Eren tried to pry away her hands but she was able to land a few more blows before he managed to get her to stop. 

Eren helped her walk towards his car. They chose to abandon Ymir’s car at the station, it was a piece of shit anyways. He silently promised they would go pick it up when she felt better, though. Ymir couldn’t understand why he had to be so nice to her. After everything. 

Ymir made short sniffs the whole way back to Eren’s house. Her vision grew dark as she felt the night’s events catch up to her. Her eyes still burned and she could feel the stickiness of her tear stains on her freckled cheeks. 

Eren had always been a supporting friend towards Ymir. She couldn’t understand why he still tolerated her, especially now. 

The drive was short as they pulled into one of the wealthy neighborhoods and parked onto his driveway. Eren was rich, some of it because of his father, Grisha Yeager and the other part because of Eren’s ambition. He and his half brother, Zeke, were supposed to be following in their dad’s footsteps as doctors. Eren was the only one who actually did and he was making good money out of it. Eren lived a rather fulfilling life when compared to Ymir. She envied him for it sometimes. 

Some time during the drive, when she was gazing out the passenger seat’s window, daydreaming as blurry lights passed her by, she had fallen asleep. Ymir wasn’t aware when two pairs of strong arms, which had belonged to Eren and his wife, Mikasa, carried her to their living room’s sofa. She didn’t feel the blankets being thrown onto her. Never heard the mutterings of a couple that were on the verge of bickering because of Ymir. 

What Ymir was aware of, was herself.

In a lucid dream, she stood alone in an empty void whose darkness attached onto her and dragged her down.

She plummeted.

Her limbs flailed helplessly as she tried to grab onto a steady ground.

Ymir met the invisible bottom with a thud, the pain that filled her was a mental trauma instead of a physical flare. Humanoid shapes of white soared up, hovering over her in a mocking manner. They were laughing. 

She spotted the shape of a little girl giggling. Her little girl. Smiling. Ymir’s absence in her life hardly bothered the girl. 

A larger shape stepped forward, the familiarity of his posture enough to identify him. His empty eyes gaped with hollowness and he said things that she couldn’t understand. His voice was similar to the static that her car’s radio spewed out eerily. It echoed in her head before a whisper broke through the static. Speaking over the fuzzy mess in her hear and saying clearly, “It’s over.”

Ymir cried in her nightmare. 

She cried in her sleep. 

…

Original Written Date: June 2, 2018.  
Rewritten/Revised: January 14th, 2021.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the story is on fanfiction.net under the same username if you're interested enough to check it out. If not, please just tolerate a wack update schedule for this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

Historia was anticipating his arrival. Every night was the same. As if she was stuck in some suffocating time loop that she couldn’t break from. Shackles of time clasped on her ankles and wrists, reminding her over and over again that this was the life she lived. She experienced the same scents, the same looks, the same sounds, the same fears. A terrifying endless cycle of hell.

The burden of her life’s decisions weighed heavily on her shoulders and she wondered if her life was just meant to be full of regret and resentment.

Historia married a man she loved.

And she thought he felt the same.

She knew love wasn’t the tension that only left when he stepped a foot out of the house and drove to “work”. 

If you could consider going to a bar everyday to drink with friends, who were just as washed out as him, as a job.

Historia knew he wasn’t even making an effort to get one. Proof within the mail that was starting to crowd their dining table. That made her wonder how they even had a house. A table with layers of neglect piling up and to never be wiped off again. She had no intent on ever disturbing the dust.

She would wipe the scum off dishes, sweep, vacuum, mop, wash the blood stains from both her and her husband’s clothes but she would never dust off that table. She wanted it to stay as a reminder. A reminder of how they never sat down together. How the dining table was just a distant treasure of more loving times that lacked tears and agony. 

Historia sat quietly on the loveseat, the only piece of furniture that seemed to belong to her. The fabric of the loveseat was a deep maroon that darkened in the dim light of a lamp. 

Silence was an enemy but also a friend to Historia. SIlence was a reminder that she was alone, with no one who cared about her but also a signal of safety. A signal that told her that she was free from angry outburst and pounding fists.

An ancient grandfather clock ticked. The sharp noise echoing through an empty house. He was coming home. The clock warned her. 

Blue eyes drifted to a window that showed the outside of their home. Looking through the blinds, she waited for a swaying man to stomp up the stairs and walk into his home. Across the street, the neighbor’s lights had been flicked off, ready for bed. No matter how much noise they made, the lights never flickered on. 

Historia fiddled with her sleeve, pulling it down. It concealed scars and bruises.

Time passed by rather slowly, she wasn’t sure if that was another thing to resent or appreciate. A part of her didn’t want to endure a storm of hurt and the other wanted to get it over with, telling her she was already in pain anyways. 

Light was similar to silence, when it came to her state of mind. The only time when he was gone and she was trapped in the house was during the daylight. Daylight promised her freedom from new injuries until darkness arrived and flooded her with every negative emotion possible. Because night was a cruel and unpredictable thing. A monster that arose from an endless void and beat her till she had no more sense of who she was. Historia felt like a child, a child that no one believed that there was a boogeyman underneath their bed. Then again, it wasn’t that no one believed her. There was just no one to make believe.

She had been trapped in this house, losing herself in isolation.

The lingering question of escape always hung at the front of her mind when any part of her grazed the outside world. It was an idea that she couldn’t exactly grasp. There’s times that range a month to months, when she’s allowed to go outside. Specifically for groceries. A job that her husband couldn’t quite manage since it seemed to be an insult to his masculinity.

When she finds herself pushing a rickety shopping cart through towering aisles, she walks by many shoppers. Every shopper, a temptation she couldn’t give into because of paralyzing fear. As much as she wished to grab them, shake them and shout and show them everything her husband has ever done to her, she couldn’t do it. It was impossible. She could hardly bring herself to mumble apologies when she’s in the way of someone. 

Historia’s aware of the attention she draws, because even the most broken woman can be beautiful, but it’s attention that she doesn’t crave. Attention that positions her as nothing more than a piece of eye candy than a woman who desperately needs help. And perhaps she deserved it, the dismissal of her humanity. 

A figure was outlined by the glow of the porch light. His usually slicked back hair was a miserable mess. His features demented into anger. He struggled up the stairs, almost tripping on the misplacement of his feet.

Historia parted from her seat, rushing to the door. Unlocking the front door, that was supposed to protect her from intruders, something that had lost its meaning a long time ago. She met his eyes, foggy with a feeling far from sober. “Porco.”

He huffed in reply. Pushing Historia aside with unnecessary force, he tumbled into the living room and onto the same exact loveseat she had previously been sitting in. Historia knew she would never sit in that seat ever again now. Porco placed a hand on his head, a deep groan escaping his lips. 

“How was work?” She spoke sweetly, enforced for the sake of security. 

HIs eyes met hers with an uncalled for ferocity. “Why does it matter to you?” He spat bitterly, his lips curling in undisguised disgust. ‘Shouldn’t you be making supper?”

She had already been a step ahead of him but she refrained from telling him that. “Yes, of course.”

Historia traveled to the kitchen, opening the oven to pull out an already prepared plate of dinner. She waited a few minutes, standing hollow in the kitchen and trying to steady her rapidly beating heart. Her hands were shaking as she held the plate so she gripped it tighter and forced a gentle smile. 

When she walked back into the living room, Porco was flicking through tv channels as he grumbled to himself. His eyes drifted, pulling away from the television and staring blankly at Historia for a moment. His grey eyes were empty, lacking in emotion. Historia swallowed quietly as he drank her in his gaze. 

When the fog cleared from his mind, his lips curled in disgust. “Where’s the beer? Didn’t I ask you for some?”

Historia decided against telling him that he never asked as she could already see the consequences that would come. She shook her head. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Of course you did,” Porco said, his tone dismissive. He wiped his face and then ran his hand through his blond hair. “Nevermind.” 

His sharp gaze grazed over her and she recognized the hungry look of desire that filled his irises. Chills ran up her spine and she tried to keep herself from visibly shivering. Historia watched as his tongue quickly swiped over his dry lips. 

“Come here,” He commanded, his tone low and threatening.   
Historia obeyed, inwardly cringing as his rough swampy hands graced her skin. She placed his food on the coffee table and approached him. 

There was a time when she thought differently of his contact. She would welcome it as she trusted and loved the man. Of course, it was different now. Porco had turned into something that was hardly an echo of his former self. She learned from one of his first ever drunk outbursts that Porco had wanted wealth from her. Something she lacked in. Something he should have known.

There was “whore” blood that ran through her.

Her family was wealthy and were strict when it came to their reputation. Her father had been groomed into the expectancies of the rich but somehow he defected. He made love to a nobody, to a shameless slut, and she gave birth to his child. To Historia 

Historia had been disowned before she was even brought into this cruel unfair world. Her first six years of life had been spent with her mother, who was distant and cold. When she finally met her father, it had been when her mother had died from circumstances unknown. He took Historia into his care, their brief relationship lasting for a few petty months before her grandparents figured out what their son had been doing and chased Historia out. Her aunt, her mother’s sister, was quick to take her before the option of foster care was considered.   
Historia was indifferent towards her aunt, afraid to form a bond with anyone who was her family. When she was old enough to move out, she was quick to and eventually she met Porco. And they slowly started to fall in love with each other. When Porco had been a different and kind man. 

A few years into their relationship, Historia ended up receiving a phone call from her father. Someone she hadn’t heard from in years. He told her how her grandmother had died from a heart attack and a few days later, her grandfather passed, assumed to be because of heartbreak. Her father apologized to her, about the life he couldn’t provide to her and how if things had been different, they could have been a family. And since she had never been associated with the family, he couldn’t give her money even if his controlling parents were now dead. She would never have wealth to her name, she would never truly be a Reiss, but she could be his daughter. 

Historia was quick to hang up after that.

And she told Porco what happened. 

When he first showed anger, Historia thought he had been frustrated towards the way her father had treated her. But instead, it had been something far more material. It was the start when Historia’s love for Porco faded and his hatred started to grow. 

She never understood his downward spiral. Or why he thought the things he did. Historia just knew she had been a fool for marrying the wrong person. 

“You like that?” Porco mumbled into her ear, his hand sliding underneath her shirt and rubbing against her skin. 

Historia didn’t reply. She craned her head away from his breath as he touched her. She hated the way he felt against her. She could feel his selfishness in every way he caressed her skin. 

He moaned softly, forcing her on top of her. She felt his crotch grinding against her, the growing bulge between his legs. His other hand glided across his thigh, prying her shorts off. 

Historia's mind started to falter as he played with her. His slow progression increased the agony of being violated. 

Porco grunted crudely as he slid into her. He thrusted desperately, eager to satisfy his desperation. Historia let him do it, numbly, not daring to scream or cry. She never felt gratification in his movements. She only felt his primal aggressiveness, his hips hitting against her brutally. She could feel her insides working involuntary but the numbness growing inside her made it hardly a bother. 

When he finished, she was thrown away like trash. He had done what he wanted to do and left her laying in the loveseat. His scent encased her, suffocating her. She wanted to disappear.   
Her environment faded around her, Porco picking up his plate and going upstairs to eat it. 

Historia felt isolation settling in her heavily. Her distraught tightening her throat and causing tears to pool at her eyes. 

Her only purpose was only for her husband. Was that not something they vowed to each other at the altar? They would both care for each other till the day they died.

Historia wanted to die.

Oh, how she wanted to die. 

…

Original Written Date: June 6th, 2018.  
Rewritten/Revised: January 19th, 2021.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ymir!”

The mentioned brunette’s lips curved into a smile. Smoke trailed from her mouth as she sat in the Yaeger’s backyard, brooding and nursing a cigarette. Her eyes ached from last night, a mixture of tears and a lack of sleep contributing to a throbbing headache. She let out a breath and fought off the pain. 

She threw her half finished cigarette down, using her foot to smother it. She turned to watch as a seven-year-old closed the back door of her parents' home, gentle in an attempt to not disturb her sleeping family members.

“You’re here!” The girl exclaimed, lunging towards the freckled woman. Ymir caught her and lifted her up, just as the girl would expect. She could feel the girl’s weight on her arms, a reminder that every day she was growing.

Ymir shifted to support the girl better. “You seem to get bigger every time I see you, Carly.”

Carly beamed. “Mom says I’ll be as tall as her!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” She nodded eagerly. “But I think I wanna be your height, Ymir. It would be so cool to be a giant like you!”

You don’t want to be like me, kid. Ymir thought briefly before shrugging lightly and tapping Carly on the nose. “So, what are you doing up so early?” 

“I went to use the bathroom but then I saw the kitchen light was on. I thought Mom was up so I wanted to go see.” 

“Don’t you have a bathroom upstairs?” 

“I was thirsty also!” Carly replied defensively. 

Ymir chuckled lightly at the girl and turned her head to gaze at the sky. The lilac color was bleeding away into a golden and red hue that graced them with serene comfort. They watched in tranquil silence, Carly admiring the scene while Ymir lost herself in her thoughts.

Carly was Eren and Mikasa’s daughter. Ymir had been there when she was born. She had the passionate eyes of her father’s and the beautiful black hair of her mother’s. She was also socially smarter than most kids her age and shared the same damn stubbornness like her father. Carly was almost two years older than Ymir’s child. There was a time when Ymir entertained the thought of the two of them being best friends and growing up together. Too bad Ymir couldn’t provide that sort of life for both of the girls. Another thing that her foolish mistakes had taken from those she cared about. 

Carly eventually broke her thoughts, placing a small hand on Ymir’s shoulder. “Mom’s gonna kill you if she finds out that you were smoking.”

Ymir smiled at the seriousness in the girl’s voice. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Nah, she won’t find out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I expect that you’re going to keep this a secret between the two of us,” Ymir said matter of factly. 

“What’s in it for me?” Carly echoed the phrase, probably something she picked up on tv. There was a mischief glint in her emerald eyes, challenging Ymir.

“Because if you don’t,” Ymir paused for a dramatic effect and then continued slowly, “You will fall from my arms and….and the tickle monster will attack!” Ymir dipped the girl down, careful to lay her on the ground without harm. Carly squealed in excitement and surprise, trying to fend off Ymir’s fingers as she tickled her sides without mercy.

“Alright!” Carly gasped out between giggles. “I’ll k-keep it a secret!”

Ymir stopped and helped the girl up. She nodded with satisfaction, “Good, let’s keep it that way.”

Cary grinned at Ymir then let her eyes flick behind Ymir. On cue, the back door slid open and Ymir turned to see Carly’s mother eyeing them with relief and sudden suspicion. 

“Hi, Mom!” Carly chirped, as cheery as a child could get.

“Hey Mikasa,” Ymir greeted.

The beauty narrowed her eyes for a moment, her gaze raking across Ymir. “I hope you’re not teaching my daughter to be just as bad as you.”

Ymir winced at the comment but fought off the pain with a smirk. “I’m not all bad, Mikasa.”

Mikasa just replied with an unamused huff before looking at Carly. “Come on, sweetheart. I need your help with breakfast.”

Carly glowed at the chance to help and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Okay!”

As the girl squeezed past her mother and dashed into the kitchen, Mikasa turned her head to Ymir. “I know you were smoking, Ymir.”

Ymir cursed under her breath and fluttered her eyelashes with a pout. “Please don’t kill me?”

Mikasa scoffed, earning a cackle from Ymir. Mikasa sighed, the corner of her lips twitching. She waved a hand for the taller woman to move. “You too, Ymir. I need your help.”

Ymir clasped her hands together with a grin of success. She was allowed to stay long enough for breakfast. Walking behind Mikasa, she made sure to close the door behind her and followed the woman into the kitchen. 

In those moments, there was a difference in Ymir’s life. For a few minutes, she achieved relief. She couldn’t feel reality weighing with brute force on her back. Ymir was swimming in temporary joy that she wanted to drown in. The problems of last night were only a shadow until the light was shone on them again. 

Of course, those few moments of forgetfulness fled alongside a part of her that she felt she would never get back. 

Standing there with a smile, Ymir watched Mikasa guide her daughter on cooking eggs properly. And as time ticked by, her self-awareness led to a temporary shied deteriorating. Ymir didn’t deserve relief from her own mistakes. How could she let herself forget what she had lost? 

Ymir felt the hands from her nightmares start to wrap themselves around her. Consuming every part of her body in a cruel reminder of foolish decisions. A pair of transparent hands covered her hands, her world going grey. Sadness dropped to the pit of her stomach, twisting it with a terrible guilt. 

Ymir’s smile faltered. 

…

“Porco,” Historia called after her husband, who had one foot out the door. She approached him and presented her a bag of lunch. “You forgot this.”

Porco huffed, his eyes a lot clearer compared to last night. He took the bag, almost tearing it from Historia’s hands. “Do you need something?”

“I-,” Historia paused for a moment, taking in a breath. The fear that tightened her throat was a little surprising. She had been reciting a few simple words for a while now to ask one question. Her blue eyes flitted away from his, feeling the way his orbs bore into her. It shouldn’t actually come as a surprise. Of course not. She had spent so long fearing him that even in his sober moments, she still saw the monster that lurked underneath. 

“Spit it out already!” Porcho snapped causing the woman to flinch instinctively. His impatience almost made it seem like he had more important manners to deal with when in reality that wasn’t the care. 

“Yes, sorry,” Historia nodding politely as if her respect would keep him from being so harsh. “I was just going to ask if I could go out grocery shopping today.”

“What for?” He immediately asked as if the answer wasn’t already implied. “I thought you went out last week.”

Historia was a little afraid to correct him. Because it hadn’t been a week, it had been a month. She felt her heart beat rapidly in her chest anticipating something nonsensical to come out. She bit her lip, finding the composure she could and grimaced out, “I want to make you your favorite meal for dinner tonight...as a reward for your hard work.”

Historia watched as Porco thought about what she said. Obviously tossing her words around in his head and making a decision. The corner of his lip twisted and the look in his grey eyes gave Historia a rush of relief. The feeling spread throughout her limbs and eased her nerves, even if it was just a tiny bit. “Right, that sounds good,” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Pulling out wrinkled up bills of cash, he placed it into Historia’s open hands. “That should be enough. Buy some beer while you’re out.”

“I will, thank you,” Historia took the risk of lending a small smile to her husband even if it didn’t mean what he thought it meant. Porco’s expression was enough to make Historia believe that he took her smile as a sign of being thankful. She wished him farewell. “Have a good day, drive safely.”

Porco nodded curtly, almost civilly as if he was treating her like his actual wife. Going to his car, which was parked at the curb of their street, he rasped out, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” The words were devoid of meaning, distant from any genuinity she used to feel when she spoke them. When he disappeared from sight, Historia let out a breath, feeling the tension ebb from her shoulders. A determination poured over her and she walked inside her home, getting ready for the day.

Historia barely had a plan in mind and looking at the dollar bills that were crumbled in her hands, she knew there wasn’t much she could do. Even if she tried to use the cash to flee from the terrible life she lived, it would only get her so far. She didn’t want to imagine the consequences after a failed escape attempt. The same depressing haze that conquered her mind last night, threatened to consume her but she fought off the thoughts. 

…

Ymir devoured Mikasa’s breakfast, resembling something close to an abandoned dog who hadn’t had a good meal in days. 

“Damn, Ymir,” Eren said, looking at her with an amused expression but also surprised eyes. “You ate faster than me and I usually eat my wife’s cooking like I’m going to die in a few minutes.”

“Eren, language,” Mikasa looked at her husband with a hard stare then turned to her daughter, who sat right beside her. “Carly, what does it mean when Daddy swears at the table?”

“A dollar for me!” Carly chirped, her childish grin spread wide across her face.

Ymir noticed how Eren tired to feign a frown as he ran a hand through his hair. 

Eren’s green eyes met Ymir’s playfully and he said with the least Oscar Worthy performance, “Unfortunately Carly has already robbed me of all my cash. Ymir, can’t you be a pal and lend a hand.”

“Hah!” Ymir rolled her eyes with amusement. “I’m not the one who fucking-!”

“Ymir!” Mikasa growled.

“Shit.”

“Three dollars for me!” Carly cheered, raising a fist of triumph. 

Mikasa pinched her nose, disappointment etched into her features. She directed her steel gaze at the brunette and said, “If you eat at our table, you pay at our table.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ymir huffed, sending Eren a dirty look as he silently laughed with success. She gave three dollars to his daughter, who took the money with wide eyes as if she just had been handed way more than that. “Well, there goes my lunch for today.” 

“Aw, suck it up,” Eren said, his tone good-natured. “You can always stop by and eat here.”

“I don’t think so,” Mikasa quickly cut in. “Unless you want to prepare her something yourself, I don’t want her thinking she can show up and expect three meals a day over here.”

“I’m right here,” Ymir added as if Mikasa wasn’t purposely dismissing her. 

Eren shrugged and took a bite of bacon. 

By the time Ymir had left the Yaeger’s household, it was noon. They were getting into Eren’s car to pick up Ymir’s car.

“So, how is Ilse?” Eren asked as he pulled out of his driveway. Ilse was Ymir’s roommate, they shared an apartment together as they used to be together romantically. Their feelings for each other ended up fading for each other and Ymir had wondered briefly after they broke up if they were just meant to close friends instead of lovers. They seemed to get along more as friends. Instead of moving out when they broke up, they decided to still live with each other for the sake of convenience. “Is she still doing that journal crap?”

Ymir nodded, turning the knob to his radio to lower the volume. “Yeah, she is, I can tell she’s hitting a dry spot right now though.”

“Hm,” Eren tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and told Ymir, “Your piece of shit car is at the impound.”

“It’s not a piece of shit,” Ymir defended but knew very well that it flirted dangerously with that title. She just hated to admit it. And it wasn’t like she was wealthy with money to buy a new car. 

“Next time, if you ever plan on getting arrested again, don’t have that car around,” The way Eren spoke made Ymir have a hard time figuring out if he was serious or not. Maybe a mixture of both. His lips twitched as if he wanted to address something else but he chose to say, “The sight of that monster makes me sick.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it,” Ymir replied, a little on the cold side. She averted her gaze to look out the passenger window. She knew Eren wanted to discuss a more crucial topic but he didn’t make an effort to push on it. Ymir had to thank him for that, giving her space. While he was a stubborn asshole at ties, the man knew when to not cross a line when it came to feelings. Not unless, of course, you were his co-worker Jean Kirschtein. She had never met the hot headed fool but Ymir could see that him and Eren were alike. She had joked that the two of them had sexual tension that they had to get rid of when Eren had ranted about the man on some random day that lacked memorable moments. Ymir jested that if Eren confessed that he had sex with the man, she wouldn’t be surprised. Disappointed, maybe. Probably would beat Eren’s ass for doing that to Carly and Mikasa, but she wouldn’t be surprised. 

Ymir breathed steadily through her nose, the thought of Carly being hurt that way sending a rush of motherly instincts to flood her veins. If Ymir had to, she would definitely be there for the girl and her mother. She cared for them enough to do that, and maybe she wanted to make up for her own guilt. Ymir knew, well enough, though, that Eren wouldn’t do that. He had enough self-control and logical sense to never do something as stupid as that. Compared to when they were high school students, Eren had lacked in those two things but as he grew older, his maturity became a dominant feature in his personality. 

When they arrived at the impound, Eren waited around till Ymir came back with her car. The fine left a gaping hole in Ymir’s wallet and she found another reason to resent herself. 

She sat in the driver’s seat, taking in the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes in her car. Ymir placed her head against the steering wheel and felt the grief that started to choke her up. Mistake after mistake, after mistake.

“Do you have work tonight?” Eren asked, his window open as they sat parked next to each other at the gates of the impound.   
Ymir shook her head, a bitter reply on the edge of her tongue. She was supposed to come in today but after last night’s fiasco, she didn’t have the energy to work through a suffocating routine of conditioned productivity. 

“Be careful, Ymir. I’ll see you later.” Eren said when he realized he wasn’t going to get a verbal reply. 

Ymir watched him drive off and then clamped her hand over her mouth, preventing a sob from escaping. 

…

Original Written Date: July 2nd, 2018.  
Rewritten/Revised: January 27th, 2021.


	4. Chapter 4

Ymir was afraid to turn the dial on her radio. She refused to hear even the slightest whisper of static that spewed sadistically from the speakers. So, when her phone rang with a shrill scream that shocked her ear drums, it undoubtedly startled her. The silence was broken rather quickly, disrupting any peace she had claimed momentarily. 

As an impatient driver slammed on their horn angrily from behind, Ymir pulled away from her stunned state and started to focus on driving. After a few more desperate rings, Ymir picked up her phone and pulled into an empty parking lot that belonged to a building that was going out of business. 

Ymir looked at the caller ID and felt a cold familitry rush through her veins and her heart started to beat irregularly. She swallowed, wondering if she should just ignore it. Then, almost in an abashed manner, she answered. Her thumb sliding the green icon across the screen in morbid curiosity. 

“Ymir?” His voice asked from the other side, an echo of nostalgia swamped her mind and for a moment, she was a kid again. 

“Marcel,” She breathed, her disbelief dripping into her tone and an edge of unease gnawing in the corner of her stomach. Her grip tightened, unconsciously, on her phone and she looked around for a moment, as she would expect the man to suddenly appear. “I haven’t heard from you in years. I’m surprised you still have my number.”

“I’m surprised you still have the same number,” Marcel answered back, his tone friendly. He wasn’t one to really joke with an aggressive bite attached. Compared to Ymir’s other friends, his humor lacked a sting that lingered with others. He was probably one of the only people Ymir knew where he didn’t put her down. “Geez, I expected you would have a different phone by now. Is that the same one we had when we were in high school?”

“I don’t know,” Ymir’s recollection of a trivial memory was foggy. It had never been a priority for her, as long as she had a way of communication, she didn’t care. She shifted in her seat, straightening her posture. “Uh, so what’s the occasion?”

“Can’t I just call a friend?” The way he said friend was almost as if it was a foriegn word in his vocabulary. Something he wasn’t used to saying. 

“No, you can,” Ymir offered a little pathetically and then ran a hand through her hair. “How are you and...and the others? I haven’t really heard from anyone but Eren since-...” She wanted to say since the accident, but she didn’t. The “accident” changed a lot of things between them and she wanted to pin the blame on Marcel. It was his fault, after all. But the memory of standing under the lukewarm comfort of a streetlight kept her from expressing any spite. “Since high school.”

“A lot has happened,” Marcel replied, verging on the side of undisguised eagerness that caught Ymir off guard. “Who do you want to hear about first?”

Ymir thought about it for a moment and remembered the enthusiastic expression of Reiner Braun. She had a competitive relationship with him when they were younger and he probably was the 3rd closest to her in their friend group, behind Marcel and Eren. “What happened to that gorilla?”

Marcel laughed, his reminder of the joke sending a wisp of joy into Ymir’s mind. “Oh, you won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“I'm sure I will,” Ymir said, her curiosity peaked. 

“He actually married Bertholdt. They’re living together, raising his niece.”

“What?!” Ymir yelped, the corners of her lips twinging in amusement she could hardly phantom. “Shit, I guess that actually makes sense. It was either Bert getting with Reiner or Annie.”

“Oh, speaking of her, Annie got engaged recently.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Yeah, to some scrawny blond dude. You would never guess him as her type.”

“Wow,” Ymir breathed, sitting back in amazement. She let the information sink in for a moment and she remembered there were still two other people in their group that they had yet to mention. “So, let me guess, Porco and Pieck got married?”

Marcel paused at the mention of his brother. And Ymir was sure that there was a note of sadness in his tone that she couldn’t imagine. Marcel had always been rather devoted to Porco, especially when they were children. Ymir had never known the feeling of being that close to a sibling but she respected Marcel’s commitment, she understood it. “Porco did get married but not to Pieck.”

Ymir didn’t expect that.

“Seriously? I genuinely thought they were meant to be.” She thought momentarily how lovestruck Porco had been with Pieck. How Pieck had always been the only one to talk Porco down from his hotheaded outbursts. 

“Yeah, I did too,” Marcel spoke, the eagerness from before was gone. He added, with a seriousness laced in his words, “People change, Ymir.” 

“They do,” Ymir agreed, her excitement from the news ebbing away into a form of self-hatred that manifested as she thought back to her younger self. As much as her teenage self had been a pain in the ass at times, she was far more level headed and calculating than the version of her that sat in her car. “They really do. A lot of shit has happened.”

“Well, you can tell me about what you’ve been up to later,” Marcel offered. “I’m heading over there in a few hours, you can bring your girlfriend with you too if you want.”

“What? You’re in town? Also, Ilse and I broke up a while back.”   
“I’m not in town right now but I’ll be there soon. And sorry to hear,” Marcel’s side of the phone was slightly cracking as if he was moving around.

“I..No, it’s okay. It was an easy breakup,” Ymir felt her stomach sink. The thought of Marcel coming to town wasn’t as exciting as it should have been. She hadn’t seen him in years and she wasn’t afraid to say that their relationship sort of drifted before their departure. She hadn’t meant to replace him with Eren, but her friendship with the green eyed brunette had grown and when they were teenagers, she had spent more time with the boy when she first met him. Ymir had grown up with Marcel, they had been close and respected each other with a unionization of spite for the other kids in their foster home. Marcel had started to tag along when Ymir went to Eren’s house and for a moment, she thought it was an attempt to feel left out but Marcel had been quick to drift and he formed an unusual friendship with Eren’s brother, Zeke. 

“Alright, well, where do you want to meet?”

Ymir looked out her car, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She looked at the abandoned building in front of her, already cleaned out after an unsuccessful business. Her eyes drifted back to the inside of her car, she caught the sight of the hollowness of a glass bottle. Her throat started to burn in an aching familiarity and she answered, “I think I know a place.”

…

Ding!

The sound startled Historia. The high pitch echoing in her mind and setting her on alert. 

“Order for Number 56!”

Suddenly, she remembered where she was. The sweet scent of pastries and the warmth of an oven swamped itself around her in a way that would comfort most. She shot up from her seat, the chair grunting as she moved and went to the counter to receive her order. Historia had stopped at the bakery, indulging for once in the pleasantries of sweets. She knew, reasonably, that she shouldn’t be spending her money on something so minor but there was a part of her that knew that Porco wouldn’t remember the amount of money he gave her when night arrived. 

She offered an uneasy grin to the employee who returned it bashfully. Taking the bag, Historia walked out of the store and avoided eye contact with every stranger she passed. 

The anxiety of betrayal and shame bubbled inside her with a sickening pain. She didn’t normally wander around by herself. Grocery stores were usually the only contact she got with the outside world and it was a rare occurrence if she actually held a conversation with anyone.

Historia weaved through the streets and towards the town’s public park, which was rather close to the grocery store and her own home. It was a fairly huge park, plenty of trees and bushes to express it’s more natural part out of the artificial paths that have been carved into its landscape. The grass was a healthy green, freshly cut and presented professionally. 

A few people were running on the sidewalk, pacing rhythmically with the music pulsating in their ears. There was a small group of parents and their children at the playground, that area filled with the gibbering mess of high pitched youth and tired maturity. A pavilion was stationed nearby, where teens were playing basketball in the comfort of the shade. 

Historia’s lips curved slightly, the sight of vibrant life sending a sensitive warmth inside her chest. It was nice. Being around the bustling business of everyday life. 

Historia eventually found a park bench to sit at, a tree arched over, protecting her against the heat of the sun. The bench was a little ways from the playground and leaning closer to the pavilion. Her back was towards the teenagers who played passionately, clearly into their game. She had a clear view of the playground, without her presence being intruding towards the chattering parents and their rambunctious kids. 

She opened her bag and grabbed a donut with a napkin. Once the flavor of the pastry met her taste buds, an unintentional soft moan of delight escaped her mouth. She forgot how relieving sweets could be for the human soul. 

She was only a little halfway through the donut when she noticed she had an audience. Her gaze drifted to her right as she noticed a little boy in a blue hoodie staring at her with awe. His eyes were filled to the brim with curiosity and hunger. 

Historia placed down her donut and gave a welcoming smile, not trying to alarm the child. “Hello there.”

The boy didn’t reply, his eyes occupied on the sweet that was securely wrapped with a napkin. 

“Do you want some?” Historia asked, digging into her bag and pulling out an extra sweet she had purchased. 

He nodded slowly, approaching her with caution. When he was close enough, he swiped the treat from her hand and rose it up to his mouth. Historia watched with amusement as he took a careful bite. He kept eye contact with Historia as he thoughtfully chewed his first bite then swallowed. 

“FRANZ JR!!!” A voice of alarm but also relief cut through the air between Historia and the boy. Historia looked up to see a woman with ginger hair jogging towards them, her eyes wide. 

The mentioned boy jumped as he heard the woman, who Historia could only assume was his mother. He swerved his head to look at the approaching woman before turning back to Historia and engulfing his muffin. 

The mother of the boy jogged towards the child and Historia noticed a man following her, he pushed a stroller with as much enthusiasm as a new father. She took a grip of the child’s arm and wiped the crumbs from his cheeks.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not run off like that?” The woman scolded before hugging the boy with the strong embrace of any loving mother. 

The man with the stroller parked himself by the ginger woman and crouched down to be eye-level with Franz Jr. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said sternly, “We’ve told you multiple times how dangerous it is to wander by yourself. You’re going to be grounded, young sir.”

“But-!”

“No buts,” His father interrupted with the cliche authority of any trying father. 

Franz Jr’s lips formed into a pout of disagreement but he mumbled his understanding, “Yes, daddy.” 

“Thank you so much,” Now turning their attention to Historia, the parents expressed their gratitude. “I’m Hannah, this is my husband Franz.” 

Historia looked at the couple, wary at first. The kindness that emitted from their bodies was forign to Historia and she was half afraid this was some twisted trick from Porco. “He...He wasn’t any trouble.”

“He’s just lucky that he ran into a kind woman like you.”

“Yes,” Franz nodded and added with a hint of humor, “He gets it from his mother. The running off part.”

Hannah swatted at her husband playfully and thanked Historia again. “We really appreciate it,” She emphasized, her expression carved with the welcomed fortune of a first time mother. She tilted her head to look at her son. “What do you say to the nice lady for giving you a snack?”

“Thank you,” The boy muttered, his eyes glued onto his shoes.”   
Historia took a deep breath and kneeled down. The family was just genuinely nice, a refreshing experience that Historia didn’t think she would have today. “Just listen to your parents next time.”

Franz Jr met Historia’s eyes and nodded slowly, He then went to grab his mother’s hand and waved his goodbyes. 

Historia couldn’t help but watch, admittedly, sadly. A morbid thought of “if only you knew” sprouting from her mind and stabbing her heart without remorse. It felt good to be respected like that, to be talked to like she was a human being with emotions and enough rationality to not do anything unreasonably cruel. 

She looked up at the sky, noticed the sun had already reached past its peak and was starting to descend down. Historia had to go to the food mart, after all, Porco was expecting a special dinner when he got home. 

It was nice while it lasted. 

…

“Honey, I’m fucking home!” Ymir called throatily, tossing her keys recklessly onto the kitchen counter. She pranced with mocked joy into her apartment living room, with a bag of takeout gripped snuggly between her fingers. “And I brought dinner!”

A woman, with dark hair parted to the side, looked up from a tattered notebook. She jumped up from the couch and clapped her hands with as much enthusiasm as Ymir. “Oh dear, you finally came back from your business trip. I missed you so much! Oh, how was it darling? Do tell your dear wife about your trip.”

“Well, honey, I have some bad news to tell you,” Ymir slung an arm around Ilse’s neck.

“My, what is it, dear?” Ilse asked, not making an effort to wriggle from Ymir’s grasp. 

“I got fired from my job!”

Ilse gasped with feigned horror. “But darling! How will we ever support ourselves? What will do?!”

“Hmm,” Ymir rubbed her chin, as if she was considering their options. Her eyes wandered around the apartment as if she would find the answer there. Then, in exclamation, Ymir answered, "Well, you could strip for our survival! I would be willing to make a whore of my wife if it meant I get to sit on my ass and drink alcohol all day!” 

“Oh, you’re always filled with the greatest of ideas, dearest,” Ilse applauded. “You can even deal drugs to pay for our bills!”

Ymir snickered, faltering at their improv game. 

“I win!” Ilse cheered in victory, finally removing herself from Ymir’s grip. The journalist slipped the bag of food into her grasp and placed it on the coffee table. “So, how did your three day disappearance go?”

“It was two days.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ilse rolled her eyes, starting to dig through the bag and taking out their food. “Always the cheap stuff, huh?”  
“At least I brought something home,” Ymir countered, planting herself beside Ilse on the couch. 

The aftermath of their relationship had never been dramatic or damaging. They managed to keep a friendship considering their relationship ended with platonic feelings. Awkwardness had never been an issue between them, Ymir having to spare the thought that Ilse has been the only person she’s ever dated that never made her feel nervous with butterflies. That’s probably why their relationship didn’t work out in the end. But Ymir would like to think that it was for the best. They had a bond, one that might be a little hard to understand from an outside perspective. 

Once it was seven o’ clock, Ymir grunted and started to clean up their mess. 

“Going somewhere so soon?” Ilse commented, scribbling something in her journal. A faint trace of black hint was smeared on her temple where she had touched it in thought. “And here I thought you liked me.”

Ymir had made her way into the kitchen when her friend spoke. She glanced over at Ilse, who was hunched over in concentration. She said, with a note of monotone that seemed almost defensive. “Yeah, I’m off to go see Marcel.”

The sound of Ilse’s pen working productively on paper paused. Ilse’s train of thought put to a stop. She looked up, narrowing her eyes towards Ymir. “Marcel came back?”

“He wanted to see me,” Ymir responded, a bit of her uneasiness welling up in her throat and forming a ludicrous lump. She couldn’t explain the emotions that started to tangle themselves up in response to the thought of Marcel. There was a small sense of yearning though, a small aching feeling that resided subtly in her chest. Wanting to see an old friend who wasn’t aware of the mistakes she made. A friend that still saw her as who she once was before the misery conquered her mind. 

Ymir turned away, taking her keys and heading to the front door. Before she could leave, Ilse managed to weasel her way between the door and Ymir. She stood, face-to-face with the taller woman with a stern expression. “Excuse me?” 

Ymir half-expected Ilse to be confrontational and send a storm of questions Ymir’s way. Ilse had a knack for that. Asking unavoidable questions that had Ymir feeling like a cornered animal. It’s what made her a good journalist. 

Ilse presented her hand out. “Your keys.” Ymir obeyed, not sure what this was leading to. She was about to ask for an explanation before Ilse stepped out of her way and pointed at the door, “Now go!”

“You are making me walk…?” 

“I rather not have you getting arrested again. Because I’m not going to pay your bail. It’s better to walk drunk than drive drunk, Ymir.”

Ymir frowned. “One, who told you I got arrested last night? And two, I wasn’t going to drink and when did I ever say I was going to a bar.”

“Sure,” Ilse clicked her tongue. “You don’t suddenly drop an alcohol problem, so I doubt you’ll come back sober, if you even do come back.”

“How encouraging.” 

“You’re going to have to face the fact that I know you a little too well.” 

But you don't. Ymir was tempted to say but refrained from it. In a cruel sense of honesty, Ilse hadn’t exactly bothered talking to her about anything personal since she lost her….since Ymir lost. And if Ilse knew what Ymir was constantly feeling, she lacked sympathy. It’s funny in a sick twisted way. Ilse had been there since Ymir first got pregnant, and there was a lack of any concern that made Ymir want to lash out and harm Ilse. 

Ymir shrugged her off, moving past the woman in silence. She grabbed the door handle but before walking out, she turned to look at Ilse one more time.

Ilse stared back, her usually analytical eyes lacking its energy. She stared at her, almost as if she was pitying her. She mumbled, “Be safe, Ymir.”

“Bye.”

After the tense farewell, Ymir walked briskly away from the apartment complex and towards the sidewalk. She had already formulated her path to the bar, familiar with the streets and the buildings around. It was a bit of a lengthy walk but Ymir didn’t mind. She needed the moments of isolation to recover from what happened. The same familiar negative feelings were already clawing its way up her body. 

Her friends were normally a ray of sunshine in the darkness Ymir was in. Ilse, admittedly, varied when it came to how helpful she was. Sometimes, she was able to distract Ymir and other times, she triggered strong emotions that made Ymir want to drown herself. 

Eren and his family were there for her, in their own way. They weren’t directly supportive but they were careful. Carly always made Ymir’s days brighter and Mikasa was there to scold her, in her own expression of care. And of course, Ymir could depend on Eren most of the time. What friend bails you out at three in the morning? A good friend, that’s what.

But despite it all, the people that were still present in Ymir’s life were not enough to compensate for the loss Ymir had suffered. She couldn’t achieve any sort of satisfaction until she got her child back. 

Ymir’s breath hitched as a memory flashed through her mind. A newborn cradled in her arms, small wails of discomfort dying as the baby was rocked reassuringly. There was an anxiety welling in Ymir’s chest, overwhelmed by the sight of someone who belonged to her. Who shared her same blood. Her daughter was the first person she had ever met who had the same blood that flowed through her veins. Her heart was full and with a fierce desire, wired into her mind, she would do anything for her child. Anything to keep this girl in her life and raise her to be a woman with a satisfying life. 

If she felt that way, why did Ymir lose.

The beginning years, filled with stress, sleep deprivation and a love that was well suited for a mother, Ymir had been passionate. Soft features of a calmed child was enough for Ymir to come undone and make all those long hours of caring, worth it. These sort of things could have lasted. 

But they didn’t.

Because a man, who she’d foolishly made love to on a drunken night, came into the picture and he wanted Ymir’s daughter. He wanted to be involved in her life and offer something that Ymir apparently couldn’t.

Ymir’s stubbornness had led to a battle of custody to rage.   
And then with a pound of a hammer, the decision was decided and disbelief clouded Ymir’s features. 

CRASH!

Ymir was taken off balance and the brief feeling of plummeting sent a fear to consume her body. The moment her ass landed on the solid concrete of a sidewalk, she offered a grunt of discomfort as she tried to comprehend what happened. 

“Oh, my-! I’m so so sorry, I didn’t see you there! Are you alright? Do I need to call someone? Can you hear me? Oh. god, I am so sorry.”

The brunette rubbed her throbbing side, feeling bile rise from her throat. “Watch where the fuck y-!"

The venom from her mouth spewed out sloppily then dissolved as Ymir looked up to identify the person that she had knocked into. Her mouth went suddenly dry and there was a nervous feeling that started to run through her veins and make her palms sweat.

"Here," The woman, who held a resemblance to a goddess, smiled down on her. Her hand was reaching towards her in a helpful gesture while her eyebrows knitted together, a worried smile slung itself on her delicate face.

Accompanied with perfectly sculpted features, she had blond hair that seemed to radiate with the dying sunlight. Ane her….eyes. Ymir had already felt like she was drowning, in a rather murky misery of unconcentrated anger, regret and grief. But if she had a chance to be saved and forced into those ocean eyes, she'd be willing to fight for the rest of her life to stay afloat in heavenly waters.

Ymir took her hand, her mind a blank slate. It was empty and she wasn't able to reclaim any sort of memories or reminders of haunting anxieties and past mistakes. The moment her hand touched the stranger, the contact sent a flood of something foreign in Ymir. Ymir squeezed her hand, unconsciously and she stared deep into those vast ocean orbs. This woman stared back, a tsunami of emotions trying to be kept at bay. 

"I'm sorry."

...

Original Written Date: August 8th, 2018.  
Rewritten/Revised: January 28th, 2021.


	5. Chapter 5

When Historia offered her hand out to this distracted individual, she had expected for this woman to swat her hand away and scowl at her cruely. Instead, whatever prepared insult had faltered from the stranger’s lips and left unacknowledged.

Historia's hand had been taken cautiously. And when Historia made contact, she was vaguely aware of the thoughtful gaze she was sent. Historia felt her skin go aflame when the firmness of the stranger's hand touched hers and her heart started to throb with undetermined rhythm, unsure how to react to the touch. 

Fear started to come at her and a sense of betrayal berated her. Historia wanted to pull away and cry out in undeserving disgust. She wanted to but there was part of her mind, causing a confliction to confuse her, that craved for such a gentle touch that was this stranger. 

Historia wanted to fall apart in front of this woman. 

"I'm sorry." 

The words caught Historia off guard as she managed to break out of her daze and pull this unusual individual up from the ground.

Historia took an unsure step backward and took a moment to absorb who she was talking to. 

She had messy brown hair, clean but frizzy, lazily clipped into a ponytail. Freckles graced her cheeks and crawled across her nose, each looking as if they were purposely placed to identify this brunette. Her jawline was sharp and her lips were a faded pink. Her posture was met with a slight hunch, her broad shoulders slumped forward in some sort of display of defeat. Small dark circles accompanied her strong golden orbs that seemed to be faded with undisguised troubles. Her lack of energy was laced in each presentation her body had to offer. She almost looked grey, as if her life force had been sucked out of her.

Her look was familiar when it came to how Historia normally felt. Historia's features twisted in recognized pain and she found a pang in her chest that had Historia on the verge of breaking down. But she didn't, and she forced an expression of friendliness and stability that she could manage for any other stranger. 

"No, it was my fault," Historia said, convincing herself that those two words were meant for the accident and not anything else. "I should be apologizing." 

Historia looked down to see that one of the grocery bags she had been carrying had torn and a few cans of vegetables had escaped. Historia let out a sigh of frustration and kneeled down, picking up one can before the bottom came undone and a flood of green beans splattered onto the ground. 

The brunette stooped down, seeming aware of Historia's current emotion. Her slender fingers moved to grab a can that wasn’t damaged and handed it to Historia. Historia tilted her head to catch the stranger's eyes but they had their head turned, scratching the nape of their neck awkwardly. "I should have watched where I was going, this wouldn't have happened."

"I could say the same thing," Historia offered, taking the can and placing it into one of the more reliable plastic bags. "I was just lost in thought."

"Oh, uh...I was too," The brunette stood up and gestured to Historia, "Let me carry some of your groceries."

"No, it's fine," Historia tried but the stranger was already slipping some bags into her grasp. 

The corner of her lip twitched into a tiny smirk and the freckled woman raised the bags in the air as a sign of triumph. "See? Isn't that better?"

Historia couldn't help but smile back. "Much better," She shifted the weight of the plastic bags in her hands currently and then said, with a murmur, "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Just accept my help," The brunette replied, a little sternly. But despite the tone, Historia could tell that there was a gentleness to it that seemed only identifiable if you understood this woman. "Not any damn stranger would be willing to do this." 

Historia compiled with a small nod. Her fear of being a burden subsiding as she realized the willingness of this stranger's kindness. The exchange still felt a little unusual, Historia feeling as she was walking on uncharted territory that would have consequences in the future. She couldn't help but look over her shoulder, as if she was expecting Porco to be storming after her in an untamed aggressiveness. She then turned back, noticing that the brunette was staring into the distance. 

"My, uh, my name is Historia, by the way," Historia introduced herself carefully. When the brunette didn't reply, Historia had to wonder what she was thinking of. What had her mind occupied. Historia could tell, catching the glimpse of her golden eyes, that the stranger seemed a little distraught. Historia could find herself relating to this stranger, once again. "Hello?"

The concentration departed from her features and the brunette flinched for a moment before fumbling a little embarrassingly, "Dammit, m-my bad, I was just lost in thought. My name is...my name is Ymir."

"Ymir?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out," The freckled woman's eyes glimmered for a moment before the light dulled. Historia couldn't help but be a little fascinated how quick Ymir could switch her attitudes. To stern, to awkward, to charming. It was as if she was grappling with personas, trying to reclaim an identity she had lost. "Historia, huh? That's a pretty name."

"Yours is too."

Ymir huffed, amused. "That's a first."

"No one's ever told you that?"

"I'm assuming everyone tells you have a great name."

"Yeah, but I think yours is more unique. I like it. You don't just meet any average person on the street with a name like yours."

"Well, I guess I'm no average person."

"I believe that."

The two of them paused for a moment and Historia couldn’t help but flush. Her persistence in complementing Ymir came a little out of nowhere and Historia was half afraid of Ymir being weirded out by Historia's words. But instead of any disgust gracing Ymir's features, Historia noticed there was a light shade of pink on her cheeks. Historia smiled, finding it a little unusual but captivating. She didn't expect someone, who looked like Ymir, was capable of blushing. Historia actually liked it.

"Okay, charmer," Ymir broke the pause and chuckled lightly. "So, can you tell me why you're carrying a whole shopping cart of groceries to your house?"

"Who said we're going to my house?"

"Where else would we be going?"

Historia feigned a serious expression and replied, "To the cemetery."

Historia had expected Ymir to be caught off guard but instead the brunette whistled with acknowledgment. "Oh, really? Going grocery shopping for the dead? That's sweet of you. Though, you would think the afterlife would have its own food market."

"It does," Historia said, then placed a hand to her cheek and spoke sympathetically, "But they tend to crave some 'real' food, as they put it. So, I'm just doing them a favor since they allow me to hang around."

"As expected from a goddess," Ymir mumbled.

"Sorry?"

Ymir jerked for a moment, almost dropping the groceries but managed to prevent another accident from happening. She raised her voice a little, in a sign of nervousness and laughed. "I mean-, I just-, you-"

Historia couldn't help but find amusement in Ymir's embarrassed state. She laughed, the sound a bit gentle and unsure. It had been so long since she had laughed and the feeling tickled her throat with a certain comfort that Historia almost couldn't phantom. It felt good. Different. And for a moment, her pain was just a distant memory and she forgot that she was shackled in a loveless marriage. 

Ymir had been stunned into silence while Historia laughed, both stopping in their tracks. The moment Historia recovered, a silence fell between the two of them and Historia found herself staring at an expression of awe. There was something that flickered in Ymir's gold orbs that Historia refused to acknowledge. Ymir was standing, dumbfounded. 

Then, with an effort of courtesy, Ymir cleared her throat and said, "You have a...nice laugh."

It came out lamely but Historia appreciated it all the same. "You're just a funny person, Ymir."

Ymir flushed and grinned awkwardly. She scratched her temple. An odd silence fell between them that teetered on awkward but also comfortable. It was a weird sensation that left Historia buzzing with anticipation. Expecting something to break the fragility of the moment. She looked back, once again, feeling as Porco would lunge out of the shadows and lash out at her. Historia forced the fear town, turning her attention forward. Even if he wasn’t here, he was still somewhere. Possibly home. He could be furious right now. The realization that his wife wasn’t home already, a scandalous suggestion that sent his insecurities to the forefront of his mind and causing him to explode with reckless immaturity. 

“I can take it from here,” Historia spoke, breaking the quiet between them. Her expression softened and there was a twinge of regret. A part of her didn’t want to say goodbye and never see this woman again. Ymir’s company seemed to feel a void in Historia and it was a sort of craving that ignited within Historia and slapped her in reality that she was desperate for any sort of socialization that wasn’t her husband’s. Though the thought of loss was feeble when compared to all the other emotions swirling inside of Historia. Fear being a dominant emotion that made Historia want to run away in the current moment. As much as the brief interaction left a sort of attachment, Historia had to cut ties and end it here. She couldn’t afford the risk of trouble for Ymir, a woman who looked as if she was already distraught enough. 

Ymir hesitated, looking as she was about to refuse Historia. Then, as if she told herself, from within, that the meaningless behind a possible argument with a stranger was a waste of time, she extended an arm, offering the plastic bags. 

The attempt was futile though. As before Historia could even make an effort to carefully take the grocery bags back, a plastic handle ripped and a few cans of vegetables cracked onto the ground. Breaking apart and spilling out onto the concrete.

“Shit,” Ymir hissed, taking a step back and looking at the mess with wide eyes. “Fuck, I am so sorry.”

I doubt Porco was going to eat those anyways, Historia thought briefly before making eye contact with the slightly freaked out Ymir. The brunette looked back, a little off guard at the unphased expression on Historia. 

“It’s fine-”

“No, it’s not,” Ymir cut Historia off before she could offer clarity to the brunette. Ymir placed a hand on the back of her head, puffing out air, trying to calm herself. When she recovered, she moved a hand into her pocket and pulled out a wallet. “You paid for that. You shouldn’t let your money go to waste just because of my stupid mistakes.”

Historia wasn’t sure if that was even directed towards her. It sounded as it held a different meaning and a sort of projection that this situation offered for Ymir. Historia paused, unsure, seeing the way Ymir’s golden eyes clouded with memories that Historia knew nothing of. When Ymir offered money, Historia tried to deny. “I can’t, I-”

“You can. Just. Take. It.” Ymir said firmly. Historia didn’t make an effort to accept so instead, Ymir leaned forward and slipped an unnecessary amount of cash into Historia’s back pocket. Historia flinched at the contact, tensing up and feeling tears form at the edge of her eyes.

Historia pulled away from Ymir, trying to wipe at her eyes subtly and shook her head. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Ymir spoke, her tone low. 

Historia stared at her, unsure what to say. Ymir looked tired. Her gold eyes even duller than before. As if that one accident had sent her over the edge. Historia felt guilty, her stomach cruelly with defeat. She wanted to offer Ymir help, anything to keep the brunette from suffering the same way Historia had been for so many years. But Historia didn’t have that power, not when she couldn’t even save herself. 

“If you’re going to beat yourself over it, you can make it up for the both of us,” Ymir suddenly said, surprising Historia. Ymir scratched the back of her neck and she let out a sigh that eased her tense shoulders. “Would you like to meet somewhere tomorrow?”

“I-,” Historia knew she couldn’t agree to something like that. But yet… “Yeah, sure. But I need your number, I have no way of contacting you.”

The corner of Ymir’s lip twitched upwards and she replied, in a much more lighter tone, “Right, right. Do you have your phone on you?”

The awkward smile was perfectly placed on Ymir’s face. It seemed like a broad contradiction from Ymir’s conflicted eyes. Historia found herself drawn to it. She shook her head, answering. She hadn’t gotten a new phone since Porco broke her last one. Historia had never had an opportunity to get one, or the money. 

“Oh,” Ymir fumbled around for a moment as if she was looking for something. She pulled out her wallet again and then pried a pen from the folds. She uncapped the pen and tested it on her palm, seeing if there was any ink left. It didn’t leave a mark. Ymir shook it a little roughly in reply and then tried again. This time it worked. “Paper?”

“Sorry-”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Ymir broke Historia off again. “Would you be okay if I wrote it on you?” 

Historia outstretched her arm as a sign of permission. “Write it on the inside of my arm.”

“Will do,” Ymir gently took hold of Historia’s wrist and started to write it. 

Historia couldn’t help but stiffen. The reaction instilled into her after years of harmful contact. Even with consent, Historia’s body couldn’t fight against the instinct. She watched, trying to keep her breath steady, as Ymir wrote on her skin. The feeling of the tip of the pen drawing across her skin sent a shiver up her spine. 

When Ymir finished, she held onto Historia’s wrist for a few more seconds as if she didn’t want to let go. Then, after a few more heartbeats, Ymir released her. She smiled at Historia, a little awkward and strained. "When you have time, call me."

Historia looked at Ymir, thoughtfully. The mess of a woman crumpled up into her features and the twitch of the edge of lips revealing her nervousness. Historia drew back her arm, holding it to her chest and rubbing it. "It was really nice meeting you, Ymir."

"It was nice meeting you too, Historia," She nodded curtly then reached a hand to scratch at the nape of her neck. "I'll see you around."

Historia bobbed her head, a sign of agreement. As Ymir started to walk away, Historia called after her, "I'll tell the dead about your help!"

Ymir’s laugh erupted in the air, traveling to Historia and making her stomach turn into knots. Historia watched her go, disappearing around the corner. Her absence was a reminder that left an ache in Historia's chest. 

Historia was so alone in this cruel unusual world.

And there was nothing more she wanted other than to see the conflicted freckled face of Ymir again. 

...

Original Written Date: August 20th, 2018.  
Rewritten/Revised: February 1st, 2021.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a stupid grin stretched across Ymir's face. She felt the way her cheeks ached at the effort of smiling. It reminded her how often she was usually frowning or straight faced. It hadn't even been long since she started smiling. Maybe that's what happens when you find your life so fucked up and horrible that it's nearly impossible to tolerate the expression. 

Of course, there were always moments that could pull her out of the miserable haze she usually found her in, but those moments were brief. Only lasting in the moment with the only side effect being even more guilt and self-hatred. 

What she was experiencing though, was dangerously intoxicating. Like a drug, feeling her veins and sending a dizzy euphoria to flood her brain.

Ymir wanted more of  _ this _ .

Craving the feeling as a remedy to her tormented soul. Ymir almost couldn't comprehend it.

Possibly, Historia was actually a goddess, gifting a sinner the relief of their sins. Blessing Ymir with heavenly presence and liberating her from the weight of the world. 

Ymir held the memory of ocean eyes vividly in her mind. Vast waters willing to drown Ymir in the war of emotions that raged within Historia. Ymir wanted to know the reason why Historia's eyes were like that. So raw, mesmerizing and conflicted. She wanted to know about this woman. Wanted to see her, talk to her, touch her again. 

Ymir's throat tightened and she swallowed thickly. Hot shame washed over her causing her cheeks to burn and her grin to falter. Raising a hand, she hit the heel of her left hand against her temple and let out a curse. The bubbly happiness leaking out of her. 

Ymir was undeserving. Even if she gave Historia her phone number, Ymir wasn’t confident in her own abilities. Their interaction had been brief and Ymir managed to keep up a mask long enough to make Historia believe Ymir was capable of herself. Though Ymir had to admit, when she talked to Historia, she had almost forgotten everything that ever troubled her. As if the two of them were the only people in this cruel world. 

Insecurity made Ymir's stomach do cartwheels, knowing that Historia didn't deserve to know a woman who was crippling herself. Who could hardly lift her chin each morning and make it through the day. Ymir felt the shame, aflame in her veins and making her want to wither away. And even though Ymir felt that way, foolishly, she wanted to see Historia again.

"Are you going in or not?" A grizzly voice broke Ymir out of her degrading thoughts and caused her to jolt with surprise.

Immediately, Ymir's eyes hardened and she turned to glare at the owner of the voice. Her jaw clenched, feeling irritation crawling it's prickly hand up her body. She had been standing at the door of the bar, practically unconscious when it concerned the world around her. Ymir came to her senses and instead of spewing out a toxic comment, Ymir stepped aside, smart enough to not lash out. The man purposely pushed past her, not even sparing her a glance as he hit her shoulder.

"Asshole," Ymir spat out as soon as he was far enough. Ymir made sure to avoid him as she finally entered the building and her thoughts of Historia, who she had met not even an hour ago, fading from her mind. She walked herself over to where the bartender worked and was quickly noticed.

"Ymir," A tall young woman greeted as the brunette pulled out a stool and sat down. The tall woman's lips twitched into somewhat of a sly smile. "Glad to see you here so soon."

"Yelena," Ymir nodded and offered a wink to play up a secure facade of emotions. "I hope you didn't miss me."

Yelena huffed in reply, preparing a drink in swift and skilful movements. She sat a glass down in front of Ymir with a purposeful 'clink'. "Are you here for yourself or someone else?"

Ymir took a long drink, embracing the burning sensation of alcohol. Her desire to get wasted and go numb was at the forefront of her mind. Self-destruct herself in response to the petty mess she was. Ymir finished the drink and Yelena was already prepared to refill it. "What do you think?"

"I'm thinking another night of drowning out your sorrows," Yelena replied, a lack of sympathy in her tone.

"Maybe," Ymir hummed half-heartedly, her gaze on her glass as Yelena finished pouring. "I'm actually here for a friend."

"And here I thought I was your one and only."

Ymir scoffed, taking her glass and lifting it to her lips. This time she didn't take as long of a drink. "Yeah, right. You wish. Who do you think Eren and Ilse were?"

"Some poly relationship you were in, I don’t know."

Ymir choked, the burning drink going down her windpipe. Ynir started to cough, unable to restrain herself. A laugh erupted from Yelena as Ymir tried to get her breath back. When Ymir looked at her, choking, she couldn't help but feel a small ball of spite towards Yelena to form in her chest. Once Ymir reclaimed air, she hunched over tiredly before finishing her glass of alcohol and unexpectedly throwing it at Yelena. Ymir was honestly surprised how Yelena dodged the glass but Yelena was able to duck down with wide eyes and the item shattered behind her. 

"YMIR!" Yelena raised her voice, shooting back up and sending an immediate glare at the brunette. The look wasn't enough for Ymir to back down. Tiny pieces of glass laid around them, on the floor and counter. 

Ymir picked up a shard, flicking it at Yelena's forehead. Her voice was low as she spoke, "I almost died and you just laughed." 

"You have to pay for that," Yelena retorted, her look wavering for a moment. Ymir recognized pity in Yelena's eyes, the same look of pity that Eren had given her before. It made Ymir feel belittled and irredeemable. "I was just joking."

"What if I don't?" It wasn’t exactly like Ymir was swimming in cash and the thought of paying for something that was unreasonably overpriced was definitely unappealing. She shoved her hands in her pockets, already making an attempt to pull her wallet despite it all. Of course, Yelena didn't deserve that. It was unreasonable and unfair, similar to how Ymir felt like her life was. "And I was choking."

"Don't worry about it," A hand in her shoulder caused Ymir to stiffen. 

She twisted herself around to find the source of the familiar voice. Disbelief covered her features even though she had expected to see him. 

“Marcel,” Ymir breathed out, her voice expressing a mixture of relief and intensity. 

“Ymir,” Marcel smiled, something that seemed foreign to her but at the time too familiar. It was his classic smile, the one that belonged to him and only him. The type of smile he used to satisfy others. 

Before Ymir could think of anything to say, a head poked over Marcel’s shoulder, a lazy expression accompanying an easy grin. “And Pieck.”

“Pieck!” Ymir cracked, forcing a bit more enthusiasm than necessary and she acknowledged the woman. 

Pieck was the one to initiate a group hug, shifting her crutches and her arms wrapping around Ymir and Marcel. Ymir let out a laugh, some of her stress rolling off her shoulders as she hugged the two of them. 

As they pulled apart, Marcel ran a hand through his dark swept back hair and turned to Yelena. “Take this.”

Yelena stared down at the bundle of cash that Marcel had offered, her eyeballs on the verge of popping out of her head. With a sudden sense of reason, she waved her hands in the air and refused. “The glass doesn’t cost  _ that  _ much.”

“I know,” Marcel responded coolly. He shrugged his shoulders in reference to the other people of the room who had witnessed Ymir’s outburst unfold. “It’s for our audience.” 

Yelena gingerly took the money and Marcel turned to address the customers of the bar. “All drinks on me!”

A roar of approval followed, clapping and cheering as a reply to Marcel’s gift.

Ymir looked around the room, rubbing the nape of her neck nervously. Her gold eyes met Marcel’s disingenuous gaze which sent a ripple of uneasiness down her back. He had no reason to do this for her and she had to wonder, even though he clearly didn’t put his heart into it, Marcel was quick to please others. 

“You can afford that?” Ymir asked, arching an eyebrow and trying to fight off the doubt in her chest. 

“He can afford a lot of things,” Pieck answered for Marcel, a slight edge of her tone that didn’t help the way Ymir was feeling. Pieck took a place on the stool by Ymir’s and stretched a hand out for Yelena. “You look interesting, what’s your name?”

Yelena, still processing what had happened, shook Pieck’s hand. “My name is Yelena.” 

“A one of a kind name,” Pieck purred flirtatiously. 

Ymir needed a drink. 

Marcel sat on the other side of Ymir, getting a drink for the both of them. Yelena pulled away from Pieck for a moment, catering to the two before drifting back to Pieck. Ymir had a feeling she knew where this was going.

“Glad to see Pieck still has her charm.”

“Aw, you think she’s charming,” Marcel hummed with humor.

Ymir huffed. “She’s always been. Pieck has a talent for drawing others in.” 

Ymir was serious about the comment. When they were teenagers, living their high school lives, Pieck had always stuck out of their group. Being deemed the most attractive person. Pieck had always stolen boys and girls away from other people, her charisma enough to make someone have a heart attack due to the way she made people’s hearts pound. 

“Ah, those were the good days,” Marcel wistfully said, making Ymir send a concerned look. He was smiling but his eyes told another story. As if he was longing for something that none of them could ever have again. “Remember those football games? Reiner would always be dating one of the cheerleaders and instead of the girl cheering for him, Pieck would have his girlfriend occupied with her.”

Ymir remembered that vividly. If it wasn’t because of the alcohol, she could phantom the feeling of her throat burning as she hollered her throat raw. Standing on top of the bleachers alongside Bertholdt and Porco, cheering for Eren, Reiner and Marcel as they played football. Annie would sit there, a few feet away from them, watching with a brooding expression though that they all knew Annie enjoyed it. Pieck would always slip away from the group, purposefully heading towards whoever Reiner was dating at the time. Pieck usually had a tactic to get their attention. Sometimes she made it look as if she was walking by to get to the other seats only to drop her crutches. Other times, she was simply holding water bottles and offering them to the girls. And somehow, Pieck always managed to keep a conversation with Reiner’s girlfriends to the point they missed half of the game.

“Reiner would get pissed every time,” Ymir said, imaging Reiner’s red face as he shouted at Pieck. Though, after he let his anger out, he would apologize. Reiner was too good of a guy to stay mad at Pieck, especially when it seemed at one point or another, he only did it to play along with Pieck’s teasing game. “Porco would be jealous every time.” 

At the mention of Porco’s name, Marcel grimmanced. He tried to fight off the expression with a laugh but Ymir knew that Marcel missed his brother a lot. Marcel had been willing to give the world to Porco without Porco giving anything in return. It’s probably why it hurt so much, he hadn’t talked to Porco for awhile now. 

Ymir had to wonder what Porco was doing right now. He had always been rather loyal to Pieck, his affections clear. She knew Pieck loved him just as much but the two of them never got officially together. It was weird, something that Ymir could never understand. 

Marcel sipped on his beer thoughtfully. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

Ymir flinched. Not expecting an apology to come out of Marcel. For a moment, they were teenagers, on the verge of adulthood. Ymir stood in front of a rather torn up Marcel, under a streetlight that emitted a lukewarm glow. Marcel looked up from his hands, the blood washed away but the feeling still lingering. He gave Ymir a smile, the same smile he could never let go of. The smile that offered a false sense of security as he tore himself from the inside. Ymir turned away from him and walked away. The end of their friend group. And it was Marcel’s fault. He knew that.

“It’s fine,” Ymir mumbled, downing her drink. Her breathing started to slow down and for a moment, the room was spinning. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep composure and spoke, “We were kids. We didn’t know better.”

Marcel shook his head, his laughter silent. He beamed, a little, even if he knew that Ymir’s forgiveness was half-hearted. They both knew it didn’t really matter now. Everyone was living their separate lives. She hadn’t talked to the rest of their group in so long, Eren the only one she had been actively in touch with since he lived so nearby. 

“How’s Eren?” Marcel asked, as if he had been reading Ymir’s mind. 

She pressed her lips together, tasting the bitterness of her drink in her mouth. Her eyes flitted over to where Pieck and Yelena were. Pieck was talking about something that Yelena seemed obnoxiously engrossed in. There was a content expression on Pieck while Yelena looked as if she was falling in love with the girl. No. Yelena was definitely falling in love with Pieck. 

Ymir sighed, meeting Marcel’s eyes. “Eren’s a doctor. Like his father. He’s married to Mikasa and they had a kid, named Carly.” 

“A kid, huh? What’s she like?” Marcel asked curiously. Ymir wasn’t sure if he was feigning it or genuinely interested. 

“She’s like the both of them,” Ymir replied, a bit of fondness in her tone. She imagined the family and the way they looked at Carly with all the adoration in the world. Carly was such a bright kid, radiating the room. Her nature was enough to remind Ymir of what she was missing in her life. Ymir waited for her glass to be refilled before continuing. “Carly has the spirit of her father and the intelligence of her mother. She’s stubborn but kind, energetic and strong.”

“She must be one of a kind, judging by the way you’re talking about her,” Marcel commented, his eyes glittering with something that Ymir couldn’t identify. 

“She is,” Ymir said firmly. She hid herself in her drink for a few seconds, familiar guilt starting to gnaw at her stomach. She had always imagined a life where Carly and her daughter were the best of friends. Growing up together and going to the same schools. Ymir wiped her face and placed her glass down as she finished taking a few more sips. Her head was starting to grow a little fogging and she could feel a buzz in her veins. “You’re brother, he’s married.”

Marcel’s eyes flicked to Ymir drink before looking a little caught off guard. He nodded, his expression implying that he was trying to figure something out internally. Marcel confessed, “Porco doesn’t keep in contact, I have to assume he’s too busy with his own life. I doubt he has a kid though. You would think that he would be decent enough to tell his own big brother.” Marcel frowned then shrugged it off. “I honestly don’t even know where he lives but he must be happy with his wife.”

The night dragged on with wandering talk. Ymir’s replies were starting to become a little too straightforward or nonsensical. As their words drifted along the night, Ymir felt something fester inside her. Resentment. She felt as if their conversations were just pointless distractions from the real issues. She wondered why they were almost dancing around truths and secrets. She felt a little delusional and untrusting towards Marcel. She wanted to explode on him, ask him why he was even here. As if catching up with a friend wasn’t a good enough reason. Marcel wanted something. Didn’t he?

Ymir wrapped her fingers securely around her drink. Her eyes were unfocused and every noise around her was a suffocating static. Grief was drenching her body and causing her to choke. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. She wanted to forget. To feel good. Ymir wanted relief. 

“Ymir.”

She could feel how she was on the verge of another self-destructive outburst. Her recollection of last night reminding her that she was just in the same situation, different setting. Anger was boiling within her and she felt irritation crawl beneath her skin. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she lost her kid. It wasn’t fair that Marcel could just talk to her without a care in the world. 

“Ymir!”

She jolted, her vision coming into focus and her heart hammering dangerously in her chest. 

“Hey, woah, are you alright?” Marcel’s hand went to rest on her back and Ymir stiffened at the contact. 

“I’m fine,” Ymir growled out, shifting his hand off her. She rubbed her forehead and tried to take even breaths to even her heart beat. “What do you want?”

“I asked you a question.”

“What did you ask?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell you considering you think your drink is more important.”

“Just tell me, dammit.”

“Okay,okay, I was wondering…” Marcel paused for a moment, letting his gaze drift and having Ymir hang onto his words. Ymir followed his gaze and let out a bothered groan. Pieck was watching Yelena like a hawk as Yelena serviced the other customers of the bar. Ymir couldn’t help but feel envious. The other drunkards of the bar were more blissfully intoxicated, the alcohol doing them wonders and helping them forget their problems. They had the reliance of booze to keep them happy and while Ymir tried to depend on drinking for her own relief, she tended to cling onto her grief and guilt. As if a part of her knew that she shouldn’t try forgetting her problems. 

Yelena was entertaining her customers, providing small conversation as the group, primarily men, laughed with her. Smiling and beaming with drunkenness that fueled Ymir’s jealousy more. Pieck watched Yelena, her eyes expression an almost predatory and protective look. Glued onto Yelena as she departed from the customers and headed back Pieck’s way. 

“When were you going to tell me about your kid?”

Ymir froze. Her body felt as if a sharp icicle sliced through her torso, ripping her apart and pulling out her dying heart. The gaping wound let blood and demons to spill out, drowning her with the remnants of someone she used to be. 

How did Marcel know?

Ymir swallowed the lump in her throat, the forceful pressure dragging down to her stomach. Her hands shook uncontrollably before she picked up her drink and hid behind the liquor. She felt vulnerable, exposed, open to an attack from Marcel.

“Who told you?” Ymir demanded, her voice wavering, revealing the nervousness that was tensing her muscles. 

Marcel was silent, on purpose. Letting her wait for an answer as he mocked her. Drinking his own beverage and smiling the way he does when he has the upperhand. His eyes met hers and his eyebrows knitted together momentarily in sympathy before being disregarded. 

“ _ You  _ should have told me,” Marcel finally replied. She couldn’t tell if his hurt look was genuine or played up to summon guilt. 

For a few heartbeats, the world slowed down around Ymir. The chatter of the men who craved Yelena’s attention were muffled, the blood pumping in her eyes drowning out their voices. Ymir felt his eyes burn into her, as if he knew every little secret she kept. As if he could feel her insecurity, her regret, her hatred, her distraught. 

“It wasn’t important,” Ymir spat out, time resuming. Her voice was raw and hoarse and the way the words stung her were unbearable. Of course her daughter was important. She loved her beyond anything else in this world. “I didn’t think I would have to bring her up.”

“A little girl?” Marcel inquired with innocence, as if he was a child who didn’t really understand what they were being told. “You have a little girl.”

“So what?” Ymir chuckled dryly, finishing her drink. She waved a hand for Yelena to give her another drink. Ymir started to tumble down a dark spiral staircase. Finding herself journeying towards a bottom that offered isolation and inferiority. 

“She’s your kid.”

“No, she’s not,” Ymir replied, her defeat combined with a bitterness that coated her tone. She felt a ghostly hand lightly touch the nape of her neck. “Not anymore. She’s  _ his _ .”

“Who’s?” Marcel’s voice was soft. He made his way down the staircase that Ymir found her on. A never ending spiralling staircase that only has two ways to go. Up or down. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ymir laughed, feeling the ghostly hand snake its way up to her skull. Yelena came by, her expression faltering for a moment. Ymir sent her glare leading to Yelena giving her another drink and walking away, careful to not intervene between Marcel and Ymir. Ymir took the drink, selfishly, and nursed on it like a lifeline. 

“I can help you.”

She didn’t want to hear those words from his mouth. 

“Ymir, let me help you.”

Marcel wanted something. It had to be the only logical reason. He craved for something that Ymir could offer. But Ymir didn’t have anything, Marcel was smart enough to know that. So why? Why was he bothering with her?

Ymir laughed again, in quiet hysteria as she felt herself being torn apart. Ymir didn’t have to lose. She didn’t have to lose her daughter. Ymir could have done better, worked harder, played smarter. 

Marcel didn’t reach a comforting hand as Ymir had a breakdown. Her throat tightening to the point she couldn’t breathe and her vision going dark as nausea swamped her mind. 

Ymir could hardly remember what happened from there. Only knowing that Marcel’s voice was a continuous stream of static that questioned her repeatedly. She only gave muttered replies, not even sure what she was saying. 

Phantoms soared above Ymir, the phantoms that she saw commonly in her nightmares. The ones who illuminated in a haunting white and held voids of nothingness in their eyes. 

“Ymir, let me help you.”

“You’re my friend, Ymir.”

“Let me do this for you.”

“You can trust me.” 

Her hauntings chanted, laughing in a mastered symphony that was for the purpose of mocking Ymir. That ghostly hand tightened around her throat. Forming a noose around her neck. Tugging at her in a teasing threat. 

_ Do it for me, Mommy. _

Ymir shut her eyes closed, hearing the illusion of a voice she hadn’t heard in so long. 

Ymir pulled forward, ripping away from the ghostly grasp of her hauntings. 

She took a huge intake of oxygen. “Fine! Fine, I’ll let you help me!”

_ You promise? _

__ “You will?” Marcel perked up, his soft tone breaking. 

“Yeah…what do you want, Marcel?”

_ I love you, Mommy.  _

__ “We can have this conversation later, we can’t have it here,” Marcel’s satisfaction spilled out.

_ I love you too, sweetheart.  _

Ymir spluttered out, sluggishly, “Alright.” 

…

**Original Written Date: November 30th, 2018.**

**Rewritten/Revised: February 21st, 2021.**


End file.
